Elliot Vanity

Once upon some other time, the sound of someone’s laughter aimed at her would have made an already prickly Gwenog absolutely thorny. When she was younger, when she still roamed the halls of Hogwarts with her head held as high as she could, when she would jinx someone for insulting her or a friend and earn herself a week’s detention. But Vanity- Elliot- wasn’t full of the malice that most others were. At least, not upon first glance. He was polite, he was sweet, he wasn’t insulting her by his amusement… 

Fuck, how in the world had the Order picked up someone as fluffy as Vanity? There was nothing wrong with fluff- but the world would rip that poor boy apart. It reminded her of Potter’s flights of heroic fancy: those who played at being hero almost always had reality come crushing down to remind them that there was no playing in war. No heros… She pushed away the thoughts of what could happen. For one night, she would play. For one night, she could pretend with the others. 

She mustered a crooked half smile and glanced down at the glass upon his request. “I mean, you could try it. I wouldn’t recommend it, though… but, if you insist.” The witch set about her work, grabbing at bottles as if she were concocting some strange potion. A bit of this, a bit of that… and a whole lot more of the other. The result of this work was a glass that was a peculiar shade of green at the top, and a much more inviting honey amber at the bottom. 

She carefully slid it across the table, her good hand keeping the glass stable. Her stomach gave a funny little flip flop, the sort she hadn’t felt in a long time. Fun? Amusement? Gwenog tried her best to ignore it and stared up at Elliot. No way he actually drinks it… “Moment of truth. You don’t have to try it, though… I promise. It’s awful.”

.

At first Elliot thought she was going to brush him off, and fair enough; it wasn’t like they knew each other, or that she’d asked for his help. But then she reached again for the bottles and started pouring together dribs and drabs of this and that. Elliot watched carefully, trying to commit the list of labels to memory despite the speed and casualness at which she worked. Not that he intended to duplicate what she’d done, not when that face was the result, but knowing what she mixed this one out of would at least tell him what not to combine in future.

When she offered him the result...well, it wasn’t an atrocious result, visually. But he still felt a quiver of hesitation when she offered him an out. Maybe he could just take her word for it...

Oh, what the hell. Elliot shrugged. He’d certainly done riskier things than swallow a drink whose taste he didn’t expect to enjoy—for instance, joining the Order of the Phoenix—and while he wasn’t as prone to throwing himself into any dare that came along as some of his former housemates, he was enough Gryffindor at heart that the idea of turning down a challenge for no good reason seemed like a waste. So he lifted the glass, raised it to Gwenog in toast and said, “To your health. If it’s not too ironic to say that with this in hand.”

And then he swallowed it and oh. Oh. Oh it was bad. It was very, very very bad. It was...well, there were words for what it was, Elliot was sure. He just couldn’t think of any at the moment beyond a lengthy, miserable “Eugh.” Elliot shuddered and wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve (behavior that would have earned him a shriek if his mother had seen) and put the glass down, pushed it away a little further, and then wondered if he should banish it altogether. Theoretically it could be washed clean of all traces of that concoction but...was it worth chancing it? Well, it wasn’t his glass, so probably it would be considered bad form to make it disappear without asking his hosts first. (Although if they took a sip, surely they’d agree with the urge!)

Emma nodded in silent agreement. Their mother would be beside herself if she ever found out that they were with the Order. She’d probably be more beside herself when she learned Elliot was in the Order for real, and not to serve some sort of higher pureblooded purpose, to propel them further up into society. Emma might receive their mother’s pardon if she learned she was there to function as a spy. But that pardon would be revoked the instant her mother realized her heart simply was not in it, and that she’d been actively looking for an escape route.

Home? She wasn’t at- oh… “No, Elliot, I wasn’t home.” She said softly. “I was with part of the Order, in a muggle section of Wiltshire. Like what happened in London, except I was on a different team.” And instead of explosions, they had had fiendfyre. 

The more Elliot spoke, the more Emma realized he was genuinely here to be a part of the Order. If she rolled his left sleeve up, there would be no faint etching of a dark mark to mar his skin. No, Elliot was too good for that. He’d always been so genuinely good. Good natured, kind… She never really understood why he’d sat on the sidelines and not socialized when they were younger. However, looking back at the circles she socialized in, she didn’t blame him for staying on the outside. Maybe she should have done the same… 

But if you hadn’t done what was expected, then he would be standing where you are now.

Emma knew she’d do it all again to keep Elliot like this. A better person than she would ever be. And she was so proud of him. But all the pride in the world couldn’t make up for how terrified she was to have him in the middle of this mess.

“Well… Welcome to the Order, I suppose.” Emma said, forcing a warm smile onto her face. It was her brother, for Merlin’s sake, act normal, Vanity.

And there it was. The question she’d never prepared for. The question she’d never had to prepare for, because she was simply there. 

“I… Don’t know. I suppose I just sort of fell into it.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie. “I just wanted to do some good… Be better, I suppose.”

.

Elliot’s eyes widened as Emma talked about Wiltshire, not as a shorthand for their home but as the location of a mission. An Order of the Phoenix mission. Like the one in London, the explosion that had led him here in the first place. He was rattled, but did his best to hide it. Obviously he’d known the Order did dangerous things, had known that he was going to be doing dangerous things. He’d meant every word of what he’d said to Wila Travers. But it was very different to think about oneself doing dangerous things from the safety of a comfortable place—or even from the sidelines of a broken, blasted-out Muggle street—than it was to think about one’s sister already having been in danger while one was sitting at home in said comfort with absolutely no idea that she was out there risking her life to save the Wixen World from evil.

Rattled was definitely the word...but impressed too, of course. Rattled and thrilled and proud and shocked and horrified and elated all at once. It was a strange cocktail of emotions, enough to make Elliot feel for a moment like he’d already drank most of a bottle of wine even though he’d yet to so much as pop a cork tonight.

He stared at his sister as she welcomed him to the Order, and a broad smile spread over his face. The feeling of reeling faded, leaving him beaming at her like some sort of loon and unable either to stop or to care that he probably looked like a right twit right now. This was his older sister, after all; she’d seen him look worse. “Thanks,” he said, his grin so wide it was making his cheeks ache.

Elliot seemed to immediately want to backtrack, hide in that shell of his. James remembered that look from school. It made him wonder what Vanity’s life had been like since leaving Hogwarts. It certainty wouldn’t have been as eventful - both with the good or bad - as James’. He still seemed so fucking… naïve. Like he was still a kid, despite only being one year younger than James himself.

James’ brows shot up as the younger wizard started babbling about jail, his lips pulling up in amusement as he watched him stumble. See… naïve. It only proved it. Elliot spoke of the others and James knew immediately he meant Remus, Sirius, and Peter - and James’ grin fell just a fraction. He hadn’t been with all three of them in the same room outside of Order meetings since before his kidnapping. Of course, he wasn’t about to tell Vanity that, but it still hurt. 

James might’ve answered, but Elliot didn’t really give him much of an opportunity. He asked about lawyers and Nicky - still, with the Edgecombe shit - and assumed that it all wouldn’t have already been taken care of. Finally, the younger wix admitted to the confusion and asked to start from the beginning. Probably a good idea. James stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded, his voice still laced with amusement.

“I was on a mission for the Order and got caught,” he explained. “Me and Hestia Jones… she’s good, it was just me who was arrested. Nicky has nothing to do with this. The Nick is just another way of saying prison. That’s all. Really rather simple. I don’t need help with anything.” He pointed down the corridor where he’d been heading. “I was just heading to the debrief when I ran into you. Then I’m gonna go home and sleep. I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

 Well, that certainly cleared things up and made Elliot feel like an absolute imbecile. He groaned aloud before he could stop himself and scrubbed his hands over his face, as though embarrassment were a physical thing he could push away manually. Of course he couldn’t, and just had to stand there marinating in mortification instead.

“Right...right,” he said, following that up with another very creative, “Right. Got it. That...that all makes a lot more sense then, yes. Right. Sorry. I, er...I didn’t mean to...” Didn’t mean to what? Behave like an idiot? Literally misunderstand every bloody word that had come out of James Potter’s mouth? Make an absolute tit of himself in front of the coolest wizard he’d ever known? Yeah, of course he hadn’t meant to do that. But here they were. At least there wasn’t a snidget’s chance in hell that he was ever going to forget what the nick meant, after just about swallowing his foot over that colloquialism. On the (tenuous) upside, Nicky would probably think it was hilarious. On the downside, it would be at least five years before Elliot would be able to tell her the story without combusting on the spot.

And James, of course, didn’t want to be here, because why would he after all that? Although he probably actually was exhausted, and not just inventing excuses to escape the pit of mortifying idiocy into which Elliot had just lunged like a niffler scenting gold. “Right,” Elliot said for what had damn well better be the last time today or he was going to tongue-tie his own tongue just to shut himself up, “sorry.” He stepped back towards the wall, clearing the hallway for James to pass freely without any more pestering. “I’ll just, er, get out of your way, then. Ah, let me know if you need any help later, I suppose.”

The boy could’ve said ‘the Dark Lord sent me to kill you’ and it would’ve shocked Severus less. 

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. Bed-toy. He covered his face with his hand to hide his laughter but it was too late. ‘ Well aren’t you bold, ’ said Severus, the corners of his lips stretched in a mischievous smirk. Severus was attentive towards the rumors that sprang in his wake, specifically the ones that followed his appearances with Lucius or Narcissa (or both) and it was not entirely for pragmatic reasons that he did so. After all, the tales that followed him at every society event wouldn’t be half as tall without his own delighted efforts. And the Malfoys’ bed-toy was not only the least offensive but also the least inaccurate. 

People just didn’t usually say it to his face.

He stepped towards the boy, eyes gleaming with interest. ‘ Elliot Vanity, ’ said Severus, stopping right before him, sinking into his mind like a wide net onto dense water. Thoughts jumped to his hands like fish, eager to be caught. ‘ That’s who you are. The newest recruit. ’ He didn’t know what they were thinking, bringing in a pureblood society brat into the fold — didn’t they have enough of those lying about already? — but that was a discussion for later. He shoved the inventory paper at the boy’s chest. ‘ Here’s your first assignment: restock the cabinets, ’ Severus folded his arms and looked at Vanity expectantly. ‘ If you drop one, you’ll get kicked out of the Order. ’ He turned around and walked back towards his satchel of brews. He couldn’t help adding, with a flippant tone, ‘ and just so you know, they’re as much mine as I am theirs. ’ The bedroom was an equal opportunity playground.

Severus’s laughter hit Elliot like a deluge of frozen water, shaking him from his baffled shock back into the reality of a world where he had just said all that out loud. Oh Merlin’s actual sodding tits, he had just said that out loud.

Elliot was on fire. He was certain of it. The skin of his face had actually ignited, and it was going to burn away and leave nothing but bones behind, and even those bones would still be blushing because he was that embarrassed. If he could have Obliviated himself right there on the spot, he would have. Severus, too, of course, but while it maybe didn’t make sense he was actually less concerned with the fact that Severus had heard him than he was with the fact that he’d said it, so if he could only wipe one of their memories of what had just occurred, he would have chosen himself. After all, Severus was laughing while Elliot was trying to spontaneously crawl out of his own skin, so he was clearly the one suffering more from the situation.

Alas, he was not to be saved by a miraculous Obliviation. He wasn’t even going to be saved by the merits of obscurity, because Severus recognized him too. Of course Severus recognized him. There had never been an occasion when Elliot had been more desperate to not be recognized, not be noticed, than now so of course Severus knew him. Maybe they’d all get attacked by a phalanx of Death Eaters bursting into the house to murder them all, and Elliot could die of that instead of mortification. It honestly sounded preferable in that moment. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself would have been preferable just then!

“I—I—I—I am, yes,” Elliot stammered, absently wondering if it still counted as spontaneous combustion if there was nothing spontaneous about the ignition. He wrapped his fingers around the sheets of paper that Severus thrust at his chest as though it might be salvation from the Hell he’d just dropped himself into, but no such luck. He expected there was no salvation for a situation such as this. “Yes, yes of course,” he said anyway, because at least doing something at Severus’s command was better than just standing there wishing to evaporate. He nodded desperately and fairly lurched across the room to carry-out the assignment. Elliot completely believed that he would be kicked-out of the Order if he failed it, not because he thought the Order was in the habit of expelling people over minor foibles, but because after what he’d just said out loud oh Merlin why—! After that, Severus no doubt considered him to be on a sort of personal probation, and now Elliot had to...well, not redeem himself. There wasn’t much chance of redemption after that—but make it up to him, at least. As best one could.

Elliot focused on his task with the sort of intensity that was usually reserved for ambitious Ravenclaws and slack-off Gryffindors facing their N.E.W.T.s., checking every item three times before carefully—so carefully—placing them in their allotted place. He slowly began to breathe again. And then Severus decided to keep speaking. Elliot fumbled the jar in his hands, almost dropping it despite everything, as he was racked with what could only be described as a full-body sputter in response to Severus’s comment about mine and theirs.

“I—ah—um, good. Good, that’s...that’s good. Isn’t it? Yes. Yes, that seems good. Very good. Splendid. Yes, very splendid. Glad to hear it. Sounds, um, healthy. Positive. Very, ah, well, congratulations on all that I suppose, yes. Or, ah, yes.” His brain was too busy reeling at Severus’s words to process much of their actual meaning, but that didn’t stop a few very precise images from flickering across his imagination. Some part of him seemed to understand Severus’s words at least, even if the rest of him was mainly just wondering how fast it would take a human body to burn to complete ashes after being embarrassed into self-immolation.

The Vanitys were among the last possible people on Gwenog’s list of who might be in the Order. Well… maybe not last- there were a few other names that never ceased to surprise her. Gwenog had to admit she’d known his sister’s name more than she’d ever really known his- though that could have been because Emma Vanity seemed to be one of the perfect, popular, pureblood princesses of Hogwarts. Elliot was more of a mystery to her- she’d seen him, sure. She knew the name. But she didn’t really know him.

She heard her mother’s voice chiding in her ear, don’t judge a book by it’s cover, caraid. She knew it wasn’t right to judge books by covers, or people by what she saw on the surface. People had done it for years when looking at her. And yet it was one of the easiest traps to fall into: staring at a person and judging based on what eyes could see alone. 

Though, Elliot Vanity was probably not the person to ask for cocktail advice. In her mind, the Vanity’s probably solely drank very expensive old wine out of crystal goblets made from unicorn tears or something. Not that she knew what Old Money Wixen families looked like. Books. Covers. Yeah, yeah Mam, I’m listening… 

“I guess I’ll have to go to bother Doc at some point and see if he could give me a few pointers, because this tastes…” The witch took a sip and tried to hide a grimace. “Ych a fi- it tastes awful…”

I know who you are, Miss Jones. Oh, Gwenog wished he didn’t. Not for the reason he probably did- a crumpled up quidditch uniform housing a girl bent in strange angles, a broom and a bat broken past repair… It wasn’t an honor to meet her. It was an honor to meet someone who was still important, or relevant. Meeting her was not as special an occasion as he made it out to be. She downed the rest of the terrible cocktail she’d concocted and put the glass back down with a satisfying thunk. “I’m trying to make up a drink that I could name after a dragon and set on fire and have it taste not like shit… and, please, just call me Gwenog. No need for the Miss bit.”  

.

Elliot couldn’t stop himself laughing at the positively atrocious face she made when she tasted her attempted drink, although the laughter faded into an involuntary—and impressed—whistle when she described what said attempt had been meant to accomplish. Granted, the way she finished that description had his lips quirking sideways in amusement again, but the bit about the dragon and setting on fire sounded impressive as all get out—a drink worthy of a witch like Gwenog Jones.

“Well that sounds a very worthy cause and like a drink that’s going to be absolutely fantastic eventually,” Elliot said sincerely. “Gwenog.” He smiled. “And I do hope you’ll call me Elliot.” He had been three years ahead of her in school and in completely different Houses, but they had overlapped long enough for him to notice her on the Quidditch pitch, of course; Elliot would be surprised to learn that there was anyone at Hogwarts whose school career had overlapped with that of Gwenog Jones for more than a year or two who hadn’t noticed her. He was very much a different story, and certainly hadn’t done anything exciting after his graduation to command attention out in the world the way she had. She probably didn’t have any idea who he was, and why should she?

They were in the Order together now, though. Surely that meant they had at least a chance of being friends even if he wasn’t nearly cool enough for her?

"Could I try it?” he asked, gesturing at her drink...or at least at the glass she’d been holding. “I don’t know how much if at all I’ll be able to help, but I’m willing to brave the awfulness to give it a try. And what did you make it with, may I ask? That’s if you’d even like help with it, of course. I should have asked before simply intruding, I apologize. But if you do, I may be able to offer some suggestions as to things that may pair together better?”

Elliot’s reaction to the discovery seemed to be quite the opposite of hers. While he - much as he had been when they were younger - was a ball of enthusiasm, stumbling over himself to rush to an answer, Emma was a condensed ball of dread. Her mouth wobbled into an attempt at a smile at his little joke. They both knew it was true. Their mother had always prized manners and good breeding above all else, and she would be damned if her children weren’t all prime examples of good manners in pureblooded wixen society. “She’d give you the lecture of a lifetime.” Even though they both knew that it wasn’t true. Eugenie Vanity’s insistence on manners probably didn’t extend to the homes of muggleborn wix.

She sat, perched like a bird ready to take flight at the first sign of danger, on the edge of the trunk at the foot of Nicky’s bed. Between the number of drinks she’d had playing quodcup and the shock of it all, it was a wonder her legs hadn’t given out beneath her yet. 

Her eyebrows raised. The explosion? What in the name of the Morrigan had he been doing there?! Her mind whirred. What side was Elliot on. That of the Order, or of the Dark Lord… Based on the utter excitement that had been on his face when he saw her, she had to assume it was The Order. Otherwise, why would he have seemed so overjoyed? But… “What were you doing in Muggle London?” Emma asked. It was a miracle he hadn’t been hurt, if he was out wandering around before disaster had struck the London team. 

“I… Have been here for a while now.” She said slowly. “I wasn’t in London. I was in Wiltshire.”

“I think she’d save the real lecture for if she ever discovered what we’re doing here,” Elliot retorted. His tone and expression were joking, jovial, but underneath the banter was the very real truth that Eugenie would be worried beyond reason—would in fact be worried enough to be furious—if she ever discovered that two eldest were fighting with the Order of the Phoenix. It was hardly behavior that fit the social patterns she expected of them. Elliot wasn’t particularly afraid of that lecture, though. When it came down to it, what could their mother really do to stop them after all?

Emma looked worried, though. Less about their mother than about the rest of it, though. “I went there to see what was going on when I heard about the explosion,” Elliot explained. “I had no idea you were visiting home at the time, sorry. Didn’t mean to avoid you! But I knew it had to be the Death Eaters in London as soon as people started talking about the blast, and I figured that meant folks from the Order—not that I knew what it was called then, of course!—that they’d be there, too. I was hoping I’d find somebody who could tell me how to join.” He decided to leave out the belated realization that he’d had no way of knowing whether that person was in the Order or was one of the aforementioned Death Eaters; it had all worked out all right, so there was no reason to make Emma fret.

Severus had spent the last three days brewing batches of dittany and dreamless sleep as well as a number of healing potions to restock the Order’s supply after the disastrous mission last week. He spent his afternoons and some mornings making his way through his less than scrupulous social circles — decidedly more entertaining and, for this particular purpose, useful — sniffing out whatever intel he can find about the whereabouts and activities of his masked friends.

He woke up this morning with instructions to meet the Dark Lord in the evening. Severus couldn’t know if it was for their private lessons, a mission, or something else entirely. He was simply grateful for the early notice. It gave him time to rearrange his schedule and mentally prepare himself. And so here he was, late in the morning stacking vials into the infirmary cupboards when the doors swung open. He looked up from the inventory list in his hand to see a new face standing in the doorway, mouth agape, features twisted into a look of profound shock and paralysis. Severus reached into his pocket for his wand but didn’t take it out. He gave the intruder a moment to gather his wits about him, but the moment dragged on, and it was becoming really quite uncomfortable being on the receiving end of such a face.

‘ What. ’

Elliot should have come up with some excuse to, well, to excuse himself; should have retreated and sought Hestia or Wila or someone else who could give him more information; someone who could clarify that Severus Snape really was supposed to be here, with the Order, and why; someone else who had been here longer and could answer impossible questions like what the fucking fuck was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s favorite fuck doing with the Order of the Phoenix? without making things too terribly awkward.

He should have mustered-up some polite nonsense phrase and left.

Instead, when the other wix demanded an explanation, Elliot blurted, “But you’re the Malfoys’ bed-toy,” too shocked to be anything but honest. “You are! Severus Snape. I’ve seen you at a dozen parties." He had seen Severus at school, too, but hadn’t paid the quiet, surly, solitary wix nearly as much attention as he had when seeing them waltzed around a ballroom on Lucius Malfoy’s elegant arm, or ensconced in a corner seat with Narcissa giggling gracefully in their ear, or being swept upstairs at the end of the evening by one or both of the fashionable blondes. At school, Severus had been—in their own way—something of a wallflower, too. In the Malfoys’ hands, they had been impossible not to notice.

Elliot listened to James which wasn’t unexpected. Most people tended to listen when James spoke, even if they weren’t really following his advice anymore. Vanity didn’t know about his fall from grace, though - so maybe it would be easy to tell him what to do. Maybe he would listen. Maybe James could feel like James again.

He stumbled over his words - and that, too, wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t like they talked a ton in school but, whenever they had, it had been like this. James, leading the conversation - Elliot, stumbling to keep up until James inevitably got bored and left.

What Elliot said this time, however, was actually pretty interesting. James looked at him, pulling a face that said well, I’ll be damned and nodded. So Emma hadn’t known? That must’ve been a shock when she found out. It was the first surprising thing about running into Elliot aside from the actual running into. “Huh,” was James’ only response to that. He was about to step around Elliot - head to the debrief so he could get it over quickly - but then Elliot spoke again and it was confusing enough to make him stop himself from leaving, giving the younger boy a bemused look.

Saw him where exactly, James wondered. It wasn’t like Elliot had been in jail and James had just said he spent the night there. He wracked his brain for what Elliot might’ve been talking about. Too crowded, a place where Emma had been… James couldn’t think of it at first. He’d not been invited to the party, after all, and Emma was the same age as him. But that was the only place he could think of that might’ve been too crowded with the assumption James would’ve been there. Still, it was rather weird, considered he’d been pretty damn upfront about where he’d been the night before. Maybe Elliot hadn’t been listening? That idea was worse, honestly. As though James could no longer even keep fucking Elliot Vanity’s attention.

But then he realized when Vanity brought up Nicky and, after a beat, James laughed out loud rather cruelly. So he had misunderstood and assumed James had been the party where Emmeline had (hopefully) ended up. But, not only that, Elliot assumed he was shagging Nicky Edgecombe. It was quite the laugh, if James said so himself. Was Elliot such a swot he didn’t know what The Nick meant?

“I’m not shagging Edgecombe,” he said, laughing in a way that reminded him of making fun of Elliot back in the common room. “I wasn’t even at the party last night and, honestly Vanity, I’m rather surprised your sister was there. I was in jail last night. Like… the holding cell of the Auror Department. You know, prison. That’s why I’m so bloody exhausted right now.”

James looked confused which made Elliot feel confused. He wasn’t sure where they’d gotten their owls crossed—everything he’d said had seemed extremely straightforward to him; maybe Potter was just extremely hung-over and struggling to process through the resultant haze?—but it made him feel like an idiot kid at Hogwarts again. James was only a year older, but he and his friends had held such a lofty position within Gryffindor Tower’s social pecking order (mostly revered, sometimes groaned at in exasperation) that the four of them had seemed somehow so far ahead of Elliot that he would never catch-up. He felt the same now, looking at James with his tired face and his obvious experience in the Order, and the aura of sordid coolness that trailed after him as he stumbled in the next day from a party and an overnight stay at his girlfriend’s flat in the city.

His laughter hit like a laugh and Elliot felt like shriveling-up, like he was a shy schoolboy again. “No, of course, I didn’t mean to imply—” Elliot began, although of course he had assumed they were intimate; still, it was too crass a thing to just come out and say and Elliot never would have, certainly not like this. That didn’t seem to be what was making James laugh, though, because he was still talking, speaking over Elliot’s stammering mumble. He mustered a smile, as though he were in on the joke...and then as James talked, realized just how out he had actually been.

“You...wait...what?” he gaped at James, and it really was as though the years since school had fallen away beneath the weight of that familiar laughter, because he jumped to the immediate conclusion of a prank gone wrong and blurted, “You were in jail? Merlin’s nosehairs, Potter, what did you do that got you sent to jail? Are the others still there?” Because of course anything that James would have done, his three best mates would have been doing right along with him. That was how things always were. “Are you here to get help? I’ll come back with you. Do they need...I don’t know, lawyers or something for bail?” He frowned and added, “And why did you say you were in—er—at Nicky’s, then?” Elliot’s eyes widened. “She wasn’t arrested too was she!? Everything seemed fine when I left last night—!” It wasn’t illegal to have a party, after all, even if all of the guests coincidentally happened to all be members of the same illicit vigilante organization. What could have happened in the hours following Elliot’s departure? And who all else had been arrested along with Potter and the other three?

No, no, no, no, no!

The two letters circled through her mind until they lost all meaning, other than the feeling of utter distress. Why was he here. Why was he here?! She somehow managed not to flinch when his hands latched onto her arms. This was her worst nightmare realized.

A flurry of words left her brothers lips. She knew she ought to hear something, but the only noise that seemed to register with her was a ringing in her ears. She was suddenly acutely aware of the other people in the room. There was this strange moment where seeing her younger brothers face instinctively caused her to snap into the character that she had created for herself (the version of herself that earned her mothers praise), but the presence of those in the Order caused a slip in the facade. It was like being a performer only half in costume. She loathed it.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Dirk’s room may have been off limits, but they hadn’t said Nicky’s was. “Maybe we should…” she swallowed thickly, gingerly tacking one of the hands on her arm and using it to tow him along. “We need to talk.”

She felt like she was going to be sick.

Once they were finally away from what felt like a million prying eyes she closed her eyes a moment, trying desperately to compose herself. “How did you find us?” Was all she could ask.

She realized she said us. A pang of… she wasn’t sure what the emotion was, but it tugged in her chest. Emma felt she was one of them. Genuinely.

Elliot nodded in happy, albeit baffled agreement, and let Emma tow him away from the staring crowd. In truth, he barely noticed anyone else in the room. He didn’t even excuse himself to Nicky or apologize for his abrupt exit from their conversation (mother would have been horrified). He only had eyes for Emma. Emma! In the Order! Who would have ever thought it! Certainly not him.

She pulled him into a side room, but his curiosity about Nicky’s flat had been obliterated by the revelation that one of the people in said flat was his older sister, and he was too fixated on staring at her to look around and take in his environs. They could have been at the fanciest gala or deep in one of Gringott’s most private vaults for all he noticed; the only thing in the room that seemed real was Emma.

Elliot’s delighted shock was hard to blunt, but eventually he realized that his sister’s face wasn’t wearing the same sort of broad, beaming smile that he was. His didn’t falter, but it did flicker a little under the weight of uncertainty that was growing underneath his confused delight the longer she went without smiling back at him. “I was invited, of course,” he answered. “You don’t think I’d gatecrash, do you? Mother would disown me for bad manners.”

She laughed, delighted. “Good, maybe I’ll even teach you some Northern Irish-isms.” She knew better than to expect him to extend the same policy. Maybe if he were off living on his own. But she had to assume that the heir to the Vanity family Estate would be held closer to home than the likes of Emma. She’d never met the woman, but she had to assume Mrs. Vanity was a very proud pureblooded woman. What, with how prim and perfect the eldest Vanity child was. That sort of grace probably came naturally to Emma, but it had surely been refined in a near militaristic effort. 

“Here, I can take that from you- We’re using my room as a sort of coat rack.” Nicky joked, holding out her hand expectantly for the robes. “It wasn’t too bad. Hit my head on the way down, but it was only a mild concussion.” She made certain to emphasize the word mild. “A wee headache here and there, but for the most part I’m right as rain.”

“Edgar Bones. Tall fella. Curly hair. Can’t miss him.” She said, before raising her eyebrows in delight. Fancy wine! Excellent. It wasn’t likely it would get imbibed that evening, so she might be able to squirrel away the wine from both Vanities for another time. She took the bottle and placed it on the counter next to the bottle Emma had brought. “Yes, that’s the one! Ted Tonks. He and Andromeda are both Order.”

.

Elliot tried to hide his relief as he passed the robe over. Given the warmth of the summer night, he hadn’t been sure that there would be any plan for what to do with outer-robes as most people (those who weren’t fretting about over-dressing for the event) had probably eschewed such things completely and he had worried that getting rid of the robe was going to be just as awkward as not bringing it would have been had the night’s dress code skewed fancier. Nicky had always had a knack for tackling the awkward and kicking it out of her way, though, Elliot remembered. He wondered if she even knew what awkwardness felt like, or if that was a sensation reserved for wix who lacked her enviable self-confidence—wix like Elliot.

He followed her back to the...brewing room? Wet bar? It was hard to figure out what the space was ordinarily used for; it wasn’t quite a potions lab, although it had some of the implements that one would use for cooking potions, so—oh, he realized suddenly, it was a kitchen! Of course! Elliot grinned, pleased with himself for the deduction, although he was too distracted by Nicky’s words to bask in it.

It wasn’t the description of the Bones brother that snagged his attention (although he tried to make a mental note in hopes of recognizing him later) but rather that of Andromeda Black and her husband—Tonks, the Tonkses. The Tonkses. Elliot shook his head as he trailed Nicky back out towards the bulk of the party’s activities. “Wow,” he said, “Ted Tonks and Andromeda Black. That’s incredib—”

And then all thought of the Tonkses was chased out of his head by the sight of the group of wix gathered around a game of Quadcup. By one of them, specifically. A face almost as familiar to Elliot as his own in a mirror: the face of his older sister, Emma Beatrix Vanity. Everything else—the noise, the people, the quads, even Nicky beside him—dropped away as though it had plunged into a bottomless pit. Elliot’s stomach seemed to fall with it, leaving him feeling hollow and off-balance and almost nauseated from the shock.

She held a hand over her heart as she laughed, a bright mirthful sound that carried through the party. “Awk, darlin’ you’re very kind. But that accent’s going to need a wee bit of work.” She winked. It was all in good fun. Everything was all in good fun for Nicky. If for no other reason than she knew it helped her get by. So if finding a way to smile, to laugh could help her… Well, maybe it could help the people laughing with her as well. “The door’s always open, Vanity.” Nicky meant it, too. The Order was chock full of good people. The kind of people Nicky liked to collect and hold close. And her collection of friends all received the same policy. Any time you needed her, she was available. Be it for a mission, or in this case, an invitation to a party for some real fun.

And then they got to the good stuff. She propped her chin in the palm of her hand, giving him her full attention. This had to be a good story. Or maybe he just heard about it from his sister? That would be a terribly boring story, so she was banking on something good. Nicky’s head bobbled in an enthusiastic nod as he mentioned Wila. “’Course I do.” She said as began his tale. So not the elder Vanity. Interesting, very interesting. 

Spot of bother was certainly one way of putting it. Her eyebrows raised in surprise as he spoke. “Yeah, I know the trouble you’re talking about. I was there too. Stationed with Bones. It was a feckin’ mess…” Her expression that had been so bright and lively for their conversation grew a bit somber for a moment. She knew she’d thrown a party to celebrate the fact that they’d all made it home okay, but it really had been bad. She sighed, letting the thought go. Everyone was okay. It could have been worse. “I was with Bones, a bit further off from the explosion. We weren’t affected too bad- I just fell out of a tree.” She waved vaguely to the flat around them. “Bones is around here somewhere- did ye ever meet him? He was a few years behind us in school. Good fella- the sort you want on your team. And an excellent tattoo artist. I’ve got to get him to give me one one of these days.” She’d leave out the part that if he looked hard enough for Edgar Bones, Elliot might find the wix off snogging his sister. And when the fuck did that happen? Now that was some juicy gossip that she’d have to talk to Dirk about later. How the hell did Edgar swoop up a witch five or six years his senior? Good on him. She’d seen the two of them together a bit that night… They seemed a sweet match.

“So you just tracked Wila down?” She grinned. “Clever boy, Vanity, very clever. Putting the pieces together like that- seeing her there with ministry… Probably Tonks if memory serves. How’d you guess she was on the right side of it all? Or were you just going with your gut?”

Elliot grinned at her laughter, pleased to see that some things at least hadn’t changed since school. The brightness of Nicky Edgecombe’s laugh among them. “Well, maybe I’ll have to drop by and practice more,” he replied. “Thank you.” He would have liked to make the same offer of an open door to her—not as a matter of reciprocal politeness, but because he truly did enjoy her company and hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it in the years since leaving Hogwarts—but he doubted that either of them, least of all Nicky, would enjoy having her visit the Vanity home very much, mainly because his mother was sure to do whatever she could within the bounds of good manners to make sure that Nicky didn’t enjoy it. That was hardly something one could come out and just say, though, so he let the opportunity for a matching invitation pass without comment.

Elliot had never understood the urge some people felt—his older sister among them—for moving out into little flats in the city when they had perfectly good rooms at home, but now he was starting to get the appeal of a space that was all your own. Or in Nicky’s case, all hers and Cresswell’s, he supposed.

He hadn’t spotted the other host of the evening yet, but he was getting the impression that this was a more casual gathering in which failing to promptly find and greet one’s host was unlikely to be seen as a faux pas. Elliot scanned the room as best he could as Nicky walked him in, and while he didn’t see Dirk he did notice that the casualness extended to the dress of most of the other guests. Definitely a good idea to have planned for potentially ditching the outer robe, then. He paused halfway out of the sleeves and gaped at Nicky. “Fell out of a tree?” he repeated. “Well, I’m glad you’re all right. It seemed a rather brutal thing even from my position as a mere bystander.” The We Didn’t Die header of the invitation to tonight’s feriation suddenly seemed a lot less whimsical and light-hearted than it had when Elliot had first opened the envelope. He didn’t say anything, though; he didn’t want Nicky to think he was getting cold feet about the Order—he wasn’t.

“I don’t think I know Bones, no, although I’m familiar with the family of course. Which one is it that’s with us tonight?” he asked, obediently looking around even though he had no idea who he was looking for. Realizing the futility of that, he shrugged and returned to pulling off his outer robes. Before he folded them across his arm he extricated the bottle of Dragondew Rosé he had brought from its extended pocket and held it out to Nicky. It was a good wine—he’d “liberated” it from the family cellars—but more importantly, it was one that tasted good and that seemed more likely to be appreciated by this crowd. “Oh, here. My contribution to the festivities.”

James was exhausted. Sleeping on a bench in the holding cell of the Auror department wasn’t exactly what anyone would call a good night’s sleep - but, ironically, James had done alright. It was better than the cell floors of a dungeon. The bench wasn’t why he hadn’t slept well. It was being locked up. When he’d made sure Hestia got out safely, ultimately sacrificing himself in the process to the Aurors, he hadn’t thought about that.

What it would feel like to be in a small, contained space where he wasn’t able to sleep. Long story short, it was rough, but he hadn’t broken down crying or slammed himself against the bars, so he thought he’d handled himself rather well, all things considered.

He was ready to go home and fall into bed. He figured even being alone wouldn’t be a problem today with how tired he was. But… there was still work to be done. Moody had made it clear that there would need to be debriefing at headquarters on just why he’d been arrested before he could go about his day. James decided he wouldn’t give the man too hard of a time over it - after all, he could be in Azkaban right now if it weren’t for him.

What he didn’t expect was to immediately run into an old housemate. James stopped short when he saw Elliot Vanity standing in the corridor of the Prewett Estate. He looked older than James remembered him, but not by much. Like a life untouched by war. The privilege of a pureblood who had never had a reason to fight. In another life, James might’ve been Elliot. But that would’ve meant a life without Lily and James wouldn’t have taken it, even if offered.

James stopped in front of Elliot and yawned as he was greeted. Nothing personal, of course. He was just tired. “Been better. You caught me at a weird time,” he said with a sideway grin at the other wizard. “Just got outta the nick, so you tell me.” He ran a hand through his already-messy hair. He needed a shower. “Heard there was a new member. You must be it. Sister dragging you in, eh?”

Merlin’s teeth, but James looked terrible. He was still handsome, of course—it would take a great deal to stop James Potter from looking handsome; more even than the dreaded Dark Lord’s worst spells, Elliot would wager—but utterly exhausted. No, more than that, he looked worn in a way that he never had at school, even on days when he and his mates had sneaked-out after curfew and not come sneaking back in until after dawn, always seeming to think themselves stealthy and unobserved by their housemates based on the way they tried to pretend they weren’t all yawning to noon.

He didn’t try to hide his yawn today, and Elliot almost blurted-out the question that he’d always been too shy to ask back in Gryffindor—what were the four of you doing?—but of course they weren’t in Gryffindor Tower anymore, and whatever had had James Potter (and, no doubt, his three mates; the four of them never did anything without each other, and Elliot knew that if one of them was in the Order, they all were) occupied all night, it would no longer be schoolboy pranks.

But then James answered the unspoken question anyway, and while it took Elliot a moment to sort through his phrasing, he got there eventually. “The Nick” obviously meant Nicky and Dirk’s place, although Elliot certainly hadn’t seen James there last night—and this was awfully late to be leaving their party. There were only two explanations that Elliot could think of which would suit the situation, and given that he’d seen Dirk hanging off Emmeline Vance’s arm (and sometimes lips) for the bulk of last night (and, frankly, given that Dirk was even less cool, and thus less James’s type than Elliot himself would have been) there was only one explanation, really. That would explain why he’d only mentioned Nicky, too, and not Dirk.

Elliot tried not to look surprised, and probably failed. “Oh, well, uh,” he said, ever-so-coherently while his mind reeled, “no, no not exactly. I mean, I am the new member, yes. Obviously. That’s why I’m, uh, why I’m here. But I didn’t, ah, didn’t actually know that Emma was in the Order until last night, in fact. It was a, uh...a bit of a shock for both of us.” He smiled sheepishly. “So no, she...she didn’t have anything to do with my joining.” It felt surprising to be so noticed by James Potter as to have his older sister known and identified in concert to him—but of course, Emma had been in the Order for a while. James doubtless knew her, respected her, in ways that even six years in the same common room hadn’t managed for Elliot. They fought together, after all. Merlin, everything was upside down...everything.

“Sorry I didn’t say hello last night, I would have if I’d seen you. Guess it was just a bit too crowded, eh? And of course I was a bit, ah, startled by Emma. Must have just missed spotting you, I apologize.” Somehow. Although the idea of not noticing James Potter at a party was even stranger than realizing that James and Nicky were a couple. It wasn’t all that surprising that Potter and Evans had broken-up sometime in the last six years, for all that they’d seemed thoroughly besotted by graduation; a lot of Hogwarts romances didn’t last once they hit the real world, and Evans was a Muggle-born. That would be a lot for both of them to deal with, outside the castle. Of course Nicky was a Muggle-born too (a coincidence, or did Potter have a type?) but it could have been Lily who had bowed-out of the weight of it all rather than James, which might explain why he’d found his way to another Muggle-born. He might just be rebounding with Nicky, and trying to show Lily up or spite her—but if he was, that was their business, not Elliot’s, and Nicky could certainly look after herself. Given her liveliness, she and Potter were probably better suited than he and Evans had ever been, anyway, even if it was a rebound. Or wasn’t. He didn’t actually know the details, and he certainly couldn’t say anything about it, regardless.

Nicky Edgecombe loved a good party, so she’d become especially adept at hosting them over the years. She didn’t host them frequently (she’d feel bad dragging a bunch of people into the shared flat for a night of drunken debauchery on a regular basis), but when she did, it could be guaranteed that it would be an absolute riot of a time. 

She’d hastily sent out the invitations, and then she’d gotten word that the Order had a new member. Nicky had made another invitation that instant, attaching a little note to it. She didn’t know how well Elliot Vanity remembered her, but she certainly remembered him. Shy probably wasn’t the right word. He had always seemed like a casual observer to her antics, watching from the side of the common room as she enacted some unhinged scheme. Nicky always figured people who sat on the sidelines weren’t ever really doing it of their own volition. No one liked being the one left out. She figured people like that were usually just waiting for someone to extend the invitation. So time and again, Nicky would wave him over, offering him a spot alongside her shenanigans, regardless of whether or not he accepted.

This party reminded her of those days. She hoped that he’d take it. If he was getting involved with the Order, he should enjoy the high points of it. It made those darker times somewhat more bearable.

She flung open the door with a drink in hand when she heard a polite rap on the door. “Vanity!” She cheered. Her free hand grabbed hold of his arm and towed him into the flat before he could change his mind. “I’m so glad you came!” She hurried to grab another drink and press it into his hands. “If you’d told me back then that I’d be here with this lot, I’d never have believed you.” She paused for a moment, wrinkling her nose at her own statement. “Actually, that’s a lie. I would have believed you, and would have thought older me was the coolest feckin’ thing in the world.” Nicky laughed a bit when he asked if it was alright. “It’s order members only, darlin’. Figured this was as good a time as any for you to get to know some of the people you’d be working alongside. Well… You probably know some of them already, but you know what I mean. How have you been?! It’s been ages! How’d you fall in with our lot?”

.

Elliot stumbled hard over the threshold. It had been too many years since school: he was no longer accustomed to being dragged around the common room by Nicky Edgecombe. From the beaming grin on her face, she wasn’t going to give any rustiness caused by those years of distance the time of day so he had best get back into practice very quickly if he didn’t want to end up faceplanting on her carpet. From the beaming grin on her face, she really was happy he had come, which made Elliot quite suddenly glad that he had. It really had been too long, if he’d forgotten that Nicky had an almost inhuman knack for making people genuinely feel welcome and appreciated. He found himself grinning back just as broadly out of both instinct and nostalgia. The quick glimpse that he’d gotten of the flat as he’d been pulled inside didn’t look much like the ancient, revered stones of Gryffindor Tower, but somehow as he followed Nicky into her home, he felt like he was stepping back in time to his old common room.

“I’m quite chuffed to be invited, thank you,” he said—a polite response, yes, but also a genuine excited one. He was part of the Order of the Phoenix! He was at a party with the Order of the Phoenix! Who would have thought, indeed? “And you know you’ve always been one of the, ahem, ‘feh-kin coo-lest thengs’ in the world,” he teased with a grin and a truly atrocious attempt at mimicking her energetic accent. It had been a while since Elliot had had cause to attempt that dialect. He had not gotten better in the interim, which was just as well because this was one case where being terrible was the point.

Elliot blinked (he did that a lot around Nicky; she moved so fast that he was often left blinking in her—usually—metaphorical dust). He ought to have realized that How did you Join The Order? would be an immediate topic of conversation, but somehow he hadn’t. Everyone else here doubtless had such exciting stories of everything they’d been doing for The Cause while Elliot had been flopping around uselessly in the years since graduation; why would they want to hear him talk about himself, when they could instead talk about them? But of course he was the new factor here, whereas they probably knew all of each other’s stories already. He should have expected that there’d be questions they’d want him to answer, albeit (hopefully) in a more casual fashion than the rather daunting interrogation that had preceded his induction.

“Well, uh, you know Wila—Wila Travers?” Elliot was still a little intimidated (in a good way, of course; it was terribly impressive, really carried the direness of the situation home, and of course it was a terrifically prudent safeguard) by the Blood Oath he had so recently sworn, enough so that he stammered a bit over her name. Nicky was in the Order too, though, so he wasn’t breaking the Oath by naming another member (another fellow member, and wasn’t it just splendid to be able to say that?) to her. “Well I, uh, well I saw her in London during all of the...you know...the spot of bother the other day,” he waved his hand in a fluttering gesture that he hoped conveyed the destructive aftermath of that explosion. “And I saw her talking to some bloke from the Ministry, only he didn’t shoo her away to St. Mungo’s and of course she’s obviously not in the Ministry, so I figured, oh, well then she’s got to be one of those vigiliante people, right?” He shrugged, deciding to elide the bit where it had only occurred to him belatedly that she might have been part of the other group instead. “So I asked her if I could join and...well, here I am!” he finished with a grin that he hoped looked confident and daring rather than sheepish.